


Dushka

by OperaGoose



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drabble Sequence, Episode 10 reaction, First Words, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Subtly insinuated Ace Yurio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OperaGoose/pseuds/OperaGoose
Summary: ((SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 10))Victor's first words say 'I'm sorry. I'm a little drunk.' Victor isn't his soulmate.Yuri will still have him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Dushka](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293544) by [Alexindream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexindream/pseuds/Alexindream)



> Edit: Okay so the Russian word for soul is "душа" (dusha) - but I was under the erroneously googled assumption that given Russian diminutives (ways of changing names and words to show affection), "душка" (dushka) was sort of like saying 'little soul'.  
> I've been kindly informed that this is incorrect! It's probably more accurate for Victor to use "половинка" which is their closest approximate to soulmate, roughly meaning 'better half'.  
> I'm leaving the text as is, but by all means please don't take my work as correct Russian usage!

The worst part was, when Victor had appeared, out of nowhere, standing gloriously naked in his family's hot bath, he had been sure. Sure that the frisson he'd felt- that the electricity Victor had inspired in him since he was a little kid had been his instinct. That Victor was his soulmate. But the panicked words blurting out of his mouth didn't match the neat Japanese characters inked out on Victor's exposed wrist.  
"I'm sorry," they said, "I'm a little drunk." 

~*~ 

Victor had announced himself as his coach, bloated himself on food and lay down next to his big poodle - Maccachin - and gone to sleep. Yuri knelt beside him, watching, his brain spinning. First through the events of the evening, and then... the words. He slid down his wrist cover to see his own.  
They'd burned into his skin the moment he stepped foot on the ice. "Could you pass me my towel?" Those words. Written in neat little Cyrillic letters.  
Victor had said them to him years ago. He'd been too flustered to reply, just blushing and passing him the towel.  
He'd been sure. He'd been so sure it was Victor. But... He dropped his eyes down to Victor's wrist, now modestly covered by a wrist cover printed with tiny cartoon poodles. Victor had someone else. 

~*~ 

Yuri Plisetski didn't have one. He proudly displayed his naked wrist - but then he was a little young. You never got your words until you properly found yourself.  
Yuri was reluctant. The little spitfire blond hated him. Still, he stammered out a request for help.  
"Another one?" Plisetsky asked impatiently. "I already tried to teach you the quad."  
"No, um," he paused. His eyes flickered down to his wrist. "Could you maybe translate?"  
Plisetsky looked annoyed. "Give it here then." Yuri handed him the scrap of paper he'd written the words out. "Your Cyrillic is terrible." He spent a moment deciphering Yuri's handwriting, then another moment mulling it over. "It says 'can you pass me my towel'." He ripped up the paper and tossed the pieces in the bin. "I'm sure you'll hear that a lot in your bathhouse."  
Plisetsky was right. He had heard that a lot. But he'd been sure. He'd been convinced it was Victor. He'd never felt this spark for any of their customers. 

~*~ 

He wanted to wear the black costume. The first thing he'd ever seen Victor in. He wanted to wear the outfit that had brought light into his life, while perhaps it was extinguished forever. 

He couldn't win Victor’s soul. But maybe he could consume his mind for just a little while. Make Victor think of him as much as Yuri had thought of Victor. 

“I need you to teach me to move like a woman.” 

~*~ 

_“What do you want me to be?” Victor asked. “Your father figure? Your brother? Your friend?”_  
_Yuri wanted him to be himself._  
_“Your boyfriend then.”_  
_Yuri’s little panic following those words was amusing. He glanced down at his wrist, covered by poodles. He had meant it though… not only for coaching._  
_In Russia, they were liable to call any of their loved ones 'ду́шка' - which translated to many things, but one of them 'soul'. Soulmates were the same. They were not always romantic._  
_So what did Yuri want from him?_

~*~ 

He'd confessed his love on TV. In front of the world. 

And Victor had talked about his suit like it was nothing! 

~*~ 

Fingers on his lips. They burned and tingled with need, as they were balmed with soothing gel. Keep them soft and unchapped. Why? Why? Why had Victor insisted on doing this himself? 

What would it feel like to kiss him? 

~*~ 

“Keep your eyes on me.” 

Not just for the dance. Victor’s soul may not be his, but right now, his attention was. Victor wasn't his soulmate, but he was his coach. And as long as he was his coach, Victor had to keep focus on him. (Maybe enough focus he meet anyone drunk and new.) 

~*~ 

“Maybe I should kiss you or something…” 

How dare he? Tears spill over, and he yelled at Victor for that. How could he offer…? How could he offer something like that at a moment where it meant nothing? 

Maybe Victor wasn't his soulmate. How could someone misunderstand him so completely? 

~*~ 

_Yuri had surprised him._

_He saw the quad flip for exactly what it was meant. Icons were important in Russia, though he had never really put much stock in them. But his signature move was iconic. And Yuri had done it. Homage. Devotion._

_He ran, and Yuri was running as well. Not towards him, but to the gate. To the place where they would meet. He was expecting a hug - perhaps the one he hadn't given before, because of Yuri’s bloody nose._

_He threw himself forward, forgetting the crowds and the live cameras, and that maybe Yuri was too conservative to want to come out yet. They sailed back, falling towards the ice._

_He kissed him. Lips pressed against the soft flesh he'd lovingly tended to, with balms and jelly to keep them unbroken, unchapped._

_His dushka. His love. His soul._

_They landed heavily, their lips parted, but arms sealed around each other. As if they could merge and become one right there in one another’s arms._

_I wanted to kiss you, he thought. “I wanted to surprise you.” He said. “Like you surprised me.”_

~*~ 

When his Vi-chan had died, Yuri didn't get to be there. Though he begged every kami that would listen for Maccachin’s miraculous recovery, he knew he had to at least give Victor what he hadn't gotten. A chance to say goodbye. 

But Victor hadn't been there. 

He'd qualified. He was into the finals. The Grand Prix. But Victor wasn't here to share in his victory. 

He felt hollow, empty. And no matter who he hugged to comfort himself, it didn't fill the ache inside his… inside his self. He hugged everyone. (Everyone except Plisetsky, who had fled from him in horror.) 

Plisetsky had given him katsudon piroshkis. An early birthday present. He was grateful, but all he could think of was that Victor wasn't here to try them. 

(Maybe he'd stolen that hug then. Plisetsky kicked him.) 

~*~ 

The glass corridor from the gate to the waiting lounge was a torture. He refused to let himself look up, to let himself hope. Maccachin was okay - he'd gotten that text. But Victor would be home with her - at the bathhouse. 

But then, there was a small bark. Familiar. _Vi-chan?_ No. He looked up. Maccachin was pressed against the window, her little tongue hanging out as it always did. Eyes drifting up and then… 

There. Victor. His coach. 

Victor looked tired. But relief crossed his expression appeared. He was up, and running to the doors - and Yuri hardly noticed he was running too. Not until he was wrapped up in Victor’s arms - in a way that felt terrifyingly like he was finally _home_. 

Victor had been…. thinking about what he should do as his coach. His hands were moving, thrusting Victor back so he could look into his face, Pour all of his emotions into Victor’s soul, if only he could. “Be mine until I retire!” 

The startled look in Victor’s face gave way to a gentle smile, and he took one of his hands, pressing a soft kiss to his fingers. “That’s almost like a marriage proposal.” He wasn’t sure who hugged whom, but then they were in each other’s arms again. 

Victor wasn’t his soulmate - or rather, he wasn’t Victor’s, But for now, they were this. Victor would be his - until he retired. And then, when his life on the ice was over, when the thing that brought them together was finished, he would concede, He would let Victor go, so he could find his soulmate. 

Victor’s arms tightened around him. “I wish you’d never retire.” 

~*~ 

_Of course, the shopping bag he had hidden the ring in was missing. If any of the bags had to go missing, it was the one he had hidden the small, subtle jeweller’s box inside._

_Yuri was distressed about losing it, disappointing him, so Victor simply had to forgive him immediately. It was just a ring, expensive but not sentimental. There were a thousand others._

_There was a brief moment he thought his dushka knew - the moment he tugged him into the jeweller’s and over to the display cases. But no, he was looking for himself._

_Ah, Victor thought, smiling, we are alike._

_Yuri chose two simple gold bands. Not ostentatious, the kind that you could wear everywhere without fuss. Not like the one Victor had bought - with the setting that meant Yuri would have to take it off all the time to avoid getting the diamond scratched._

_He liked this better._

_~*~_

_There was a choir singing, as they stood at the foot of a church. Yuri tenderly removing his glove and sliding the ring on his finger. Russian weddings were tedious affairs - on your feet for hours on end while long sermons were pronounced over the bride and groom. Not that this was a wedding, exactly. It was a kind of mutual engagement, with Victor slipping the ring onto Yuri’s finger with as much reverence as he could._

_His dushka. His soul. His Yuri. Now for the world to see._

~*~ 

“I couldn’t even talk to Victor.” He’d been devastated at his loss, ashamed of himself for doing so poorly when he had finally been able to share the ice with Victor. 

But…. why was everyone giving him those looks? 

Why had Victor spit out his drink? Why was he turning to him like that? "Yuri... you don't remember?" 

_What didn't he remember?!_

“You got drunk on champagne and started dancing.” 

No he hadn’t…. 

Oh god, they had photos. 

And there, between showing people photos on his phone, was Victor - smiling fondly - and tracing a finger across the poodle-cover on his wrist. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

He never got to ask about it. Pichit had seen their rings, and was loudly pronouncing: “Congratulations on your marriage!” 

Panicked, flustered - _nobody was surprised!_ \- he tried to explain, over the applause and the announcement to the restaurant, and all of their friends congratulating them. It wasn’t a wedding - it was a representation of their- 

“They’re engagement rings,” Victor was saying. Calm and assured, like… like he believed it. They were engaged? 

His gaffe about winning the gold soured the mood - reminded everyone they were competitions now and friends later. Then JJ ruined everything and they all shuffled out, awkward. 

“Victor?” Yuri mumbled. 

“Mm?” 

“We’re engaged?” 

Victor’s crystal-coloured eyes turned to look at him, hair drifting in the wind. “Was that not what you intended, dushka?” 

“N...no,” he stammered, uncertain. 

“Oh.” 

“But… We,” he trailed off, unsure what to say. 

“Is it too fast?” Victor asked carefully. “In Russia, we are quick. Once we find our soul, we don’t see much point in waiting.” 

“Did you know it was me?” 

He hummed. “Yes,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure at the party. I’ve had many drunk men and women push themselves on me - nor were you the first to ask me to be your coach. But when I saw your video…” He paused. “Your homage. I knew that my soul was in you too.” 

Yuri smiled. “Then I’ll win the gold. And we’ll get married.” 

There was a twinkle in his eye. “And then,” he pronounced, “we can get katsudon.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Shit forgot some details and some things, quick edit to the restaurant scene.


End file.
